


A Debt Incurred

by chipmunk94



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: But Mostly Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, technically gen but could be read as slash or pre-slash very very easily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 13:03:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10640409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chipmunk94/pseuds/chipmunk94
Summary: When a shoot-out separates Ezra and Chris from the rest of the Seven, Chris realizes how deep Ezra's loyalties run.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to write this story when watching Ice Age (you know, the scene where Diego protects Manny? Yeah, that one) with my friend who is as deeply obsessed with this fabulous show as I am. While she wrote smut, I wrote this. The relationships are purposefully vague, so take with that what you will. 
> 
> This has the potential for more, so let me know if you'd like me to continue the story.

“Come on, Ezra.” James DeSoto circled closer to the weaponless gunslinger, throwing a glance at the con man beside him, who had joined his group of men nearly a month ago. The man had come to him with priceless knowledge of gems and a level of ruthlessness that had impressed the bandit. “Now’s our chance.” Ezra Standish hesitated, then slipped beside the man, mimicking his movements which brought them in a tight circle, closer and closer to their prey like buzzards. DeSoto liked to see the eyes of the men he killed. Just as the distance narrowed down to less than a yard, Ezra slipped between DeSoto and Chris Larabee, bringing his gun up to aim at the DeSoto’s midriff. 

“What are you doing, Ezra?” DeSoto growled, brought to a standstill, gun wavering unsure whether to point it at his original prey or the unexpected threat.

“Leave Larabee alone.” Ezra didn’t spit the words, his voice too dry to do that, but he bared his teeth, hoping to hide the tremors in his body as aggression. His gold tooth glinted in the sunlight. DeSoto licked his lips, unease at the new development crawling up his spine, then smiled when Ezra’s eyes flickered off his shoulder, betraying the two men coming up beside him. He glanced to the side and his smile grew when he recognized his own men, battered and bruised from the altercation with Larabee’s gang, but his own, nonetheless. Gunfire still echoed in the rocks below them, where the rest still battled, each side seeking to advance and protect their leader. 

“Fine.” DeSoto gave an aggrieved sigh, a shadowed grin inching over his face. “Then we’ll take you down too.” 

Guns swung up, but Ezra fired first, one bullet catching the man to the left of DeSoto on the wrist. The man dropped his gun and clutched his wound, howling. The next bullet caught the gut of the other man, dropping him. DeSoto and his injured compatriot scrambled behind the rocks, stirring up dust with their movements. Ezra did the same, diving behind a small outcropping, not daring to look behind him to check if Larabee was doing the same. Bullets sang around him and he felt a slight tug at his sleeve, but no pain. He brought his uninjured arm up and slipped a finger into the sleeve hole, cursing quietly. This coat had come from San Francisco; perhaps the judge would advance him a small amount of money due to the hazards he had incurred when infiltrating DeSoto’s gang. Somehow, he rather doubted it. He popped up when the opposing gunfire died down, firing back, blindly at first, then aiming when the dust settled enough for him to see his target. He risked a glance over his shoulder. There was no sign of Larabee and he hoped that meant the man was smart enough to stay down when he had no gun to protect himself. As that was rarely the case, he could only hope the man was quick enough to duck. 

Another burst of gunfire sent him crouching back down, head ducked and shoulders almost up around his ears. Slivers of rock flew up from where the bullets struck, scoring his skin wrists and arms where his sleeves were rolled up; a large fragment caught his cheek and he hissed, blinking back reactive tears. Now was not the time for pain to overwhelm. He took a steadying breath, waiting for the volley to pause, then swung up taking aim at the rocks where DeSoto and his cohorts were crouched, not pausing to take his bearings. Shooting from memory was a skill he’d honed in the various pool halls and saloons he’d visited throughout the years and a yelp gave him the grim satisfaction of knowing that time had not gone to waste. But even as he crouched back down, fingers flying to his gun belt for extra ammunition, something punched into his side, the crack of the gunshot almost unheard over the bombardment from farther down the canyon walls where the rest of the seven were caught in a shootout. Ezra spun around on his knees with a gasp, gun falling from suddenly weak fingers. The force of his spin threw him into the wall of rocks that had protected his back, his forehead smashing into the unyielding sandstone. He fell to his side and his mind filled with haze, the bright yellow of the afternoon sun burning the sand in front of him until it was all he registered. The sounds of the battle faded and he closed his eyes, heedless of a voice shouting his name, the tone of which would normally have him on his feet in moments. 

 

Chris ducked back behind the slim covering the rocks provided him, cursing. He peeked up, hoping the situation had changed and ducked down again to avoid the hail of bullets sent his way. But that brief look only confirmed that Ezra lay limp against the rock, face turned away. Chris couldn’t see blood against the dark purple of Ezra’s coat but he hadn’t reacted to Chris’ shout. He always reacted, no matter how strained their relationship was on any given day, whether it was with a muttered curse or unrepentant back talk. The con man had protected him, and now he was paying the price. His hand flexed helplessly and he wished, not for the first time in the last twenty minutes, that he had managed to keep hold of the gun that had been knocked out of his hand and into the shallow canyon below. All he had were the bullets at his belt and those were useless unless the man he came up against had a peculiar sensitivity to lead. 

“Larabee!” He raised his head at the shout, blue eyes squinting at the brightness of the sun. “Larabee, your man’s down and the rest of your posse won’t be getting here in time to save your skin. Come on out, and I promise you, we’ll at least treat your corpse with some manner of decency.”

“Decency?” Chris shouted, shuffling around the rock as he spoke, desperately trying to find a place where he could circle around to Ezra. “You don’t know the meaning of the word, DeSoto. You didn’t use some decency on those villagers you slaughtered. Why? For a few handfuls of silver and the rumor of a sapphire mine?”

“It’s here!” DeSoto shouted back, his voice reaching a fever pitch. “It’s in these mountains and I’ll find it. You and your men can’t stop me.”

“We already have!” Chris retorted. His hand brushed a loose rock and he grabbed it, settling it into his palm; it fit perfectly and he hefted it. It was a good weight, but he was afraid it wouldn’t do much good against a bullet from a gun. 

Shoes scuffled against the bedstone, sending small rocks clattering onto his head and he looked up, scrambling so that his back was against the wall of solid rock. He hadn’t noticed DeSoto approaching, so focused on searching for a weapon. The sharp edges of the sandstone scored his back. The sun blazed behind DeSoto, creating a dark halo. 

“Say goodnight, Larabee.” The echo of the hammer cocking and the bullet falling into the chamber drowned out the blood pounding in Chris’ ears and he shut his eyes, unwilling to see his death coming in this way, from this man. 

Something hit Chris hard, but not from the direction he expected and he flew to the ground as the gun retorted. His eyes shot open and he grabbed for the gun that wasn’t there, struggled to his knees. Ezra lay on the dusty ground, back facing Chris. Even as he stared, a soft gasping sound reached his ears and he scrambled over to Ezra. 

“Ezra,” he whispered, gently turning the man over. Ezra’s green eyes were shut tight, lines at the edges more clearly defined than Chris had ever seen them. Sweat beaded on his brow, flattening the brown hair to his forehead. Blood pooled from a wound just under his left shoulder. Chris placed his hand on Ezra’s back and immediately brought it back. It was sticky with blood. “Ezra,” Chris whispered more urgently, leaning over him. Ezra didn’t open his eyes, just continued with the little gasping noises that made Chris' stomach ache to hear. Chris hunched farther, listening to the sound of footsteps on the rocks behind him. His hand slipped and he gripped Ezra’s right hand tightly, fear pulsing through him at the clamminess that was out of place on a hot summer’s day.

“Pity, really.” DeSoto’s voice was uncaring, with less emotion than JD talked about the stray cat that had been run over by a wagon. “He was an impressive man. He could have really been something.” The hammer cocked again. 

Chris hissed through his teeth and sat up, spinning around with Ezra’s derringer gripped in his hand, the two shots in its chamber already going off before DeSoto could squeeze the trigger. The first struck his shoulder; the second, his throat. He gurgled for a moment, bright red blood spurting from both wounds, before he collapsed, the bullet spent harmlessly in the dirt next to him. 

Chris wanted to turn back to Ezra, but he forced himself over to DeSoto, taking the gun from his limp grip. “He’s already something,” he told the blue eyes that stared sightlessly into the sky. 

He stayed hunched over, not wanting to take the chance of being shot by a well-aimed bullet when Ezra needed him. He knelt at Ezra’s side, tugging off the bandana at his neck and pressing it against the bullet wound low on Ezra’s shoulder. He cursed when his hand brushed against another spot damp with blood on Ezra’s side. He peeled back the layers of clothing as best he could. A chunk had been taken out of his side, but it was a flesh wound. Ezra wouldn’t be happy about the scar it left behind, but at least it wouldn’t be what killed him. The shoulder wound on the other hand…Chris wasn’t sure how close it had come to his heart and even if Ezra did live, Chris had seen men lose the use of their arms from such wounds, had caused such damage himself even when he was shooting to wound and not kill. There wasn’t much use for a one-handed card shark. 

Footsteps scrambled on the rock and Chris twisted, the stolen gun coming up. JD scrambled to a halt, hands held up, eyes wide and breathing fast. Chris uncocked the trigger.

“Get Nathan,” he bit out.

“Are you—” JD didn’t finish the sentence, his eyes catching the body behind Chris. “Oh God,” he whispered.

“Get Nathan!” Chris roared, not able to regret the way JD flinched back, when it got him scrambling back over the pile of rocks, shouting for Nathan. Chris turned back to Ezra, pressing harder on the wound, other hand sneaking around the back to press firmly on that hole. 

“Don’t you run out on me again, Ezra,” Chris whispered, leaning in to speak the words in Ezra’s ear, not knowing if he could hear but not wanting to waste the words. “You swore to me you wouldn’t run out again.”

He didn’t know if it was the words that got a reaction, or the pressure he was placing on the wounds, but Ezra tossed his head, a low moan coming from his throat. Chris froze, his forehead almost touching Ezra’s as his green eyes fluttered open, hazy and clouded but pinning on Chris’ with startling accuracy. 

“Not going anywhere, bastard,” Ezra whispered and Chris had never been so relieved to have his parentage questioned. The rattle of rocks and the shout of his name alerted him to Nathan’s presence, but he didn’t turn his head.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he told Ezra, even as he moved to make room for Nathan.

Ezra blinked slowly and a smile twitched at his lips. Chris immediately wanted to shout, to ask what was so damn amusing when the man was lying there bleeding into the dust. “If I have had the pleasure of learning anything from this conglomeration of misfits, it is that, that is what you do in a family.” 

Chris' fingers itched to shake him, wanted to tell him that he wasn’t worth the blood that was spilling out right now, but the words caught in his throat and he closed his eyes, letting his head fall and rest on Ezra’s forehead. These were words he wanted to tell Ezra, but he would save them for when the man was recuperating on one of Nathan’s cots and was strong enough to counter Chris’ words. For now, Chris knew what he had to say, to keep that green light glinting in the Southern conman’s eyes. 

“You did good, Ezra. You did good.”

**Author's Note:**

> And, because it's Ezra:
> 
> “Don’t think anything of this, Mr. Larabee, but if you think you owe me your life, I’d be obliged to collect on the debt.”


End file.
